Midnight Musings
by Frankie Beeblebrox
Summary: What do people say when they think no one is listening to them? A series of vignettes from different characters. Rated PG for possible later content Please read and review!
1. Lone Survivor

I think about it occasionally.   
  
Of course, I could never admit that to anyone, but it's true. Late at night, when everyone else is sleeping and   
  
the dormitory is as quiet as a tomb. Some nights I find I just can't get to sleep. So instead of trying to force myself,  
  
I come out here.   
  
No one knows about this, naturally. Wouldn't do to have anyone asking me questions. "What are you thinking?   
  
Are you upset?"   
  
Of course I'm upset, you prat. How could I not be? No one else I know has to deal with these issues. Not   
  
the Weasel. Not the Mudblood. Not even Saint Potter.   
  
Like I said, I try not to think about it too much. Wouldn't be good to dwell on things I can't change. But I   
  
know it's happening. I know for a fact Potter isn't lying.   
  
No, Mother and Father have never actually come out and said to me "You know, Son, the Dark Lord has   
  
returned and we are working for him." That would be absurd, if not suicidal. You don't actually mention the Dark Lord.   
  
Especially not in my house.   
  
I asked Father about him once. Asked what it was like to be in the service of the greatest wizard mankind   
  
has ever known. Asked him what benefits and rewards we would reap when he was triumphant. Asked when I would be   
  
old enough to serve him.   
  
I got smacked across the face for my 'impertinence" and told never to ask questions. The walls have ears, you know.   
  
Yes, Father. I know. I am not stupid, no matter what you continue say  
  
I realize that I have never seen either of their forearms. A small thing, most people would think, but it always  
  
seemed odd to me, that even in the hottest days of the summer, they would never expose their arms. "Undignified" father said.  
  
Right. Undignified.   
  
I realize that there are certain rooms in the basement that I am not allowed to even think about without chancing   
  
severe punishment. I learned that lesson early enough, when I walked into a house of horrors when I could barely stand  
  
on my own. Of course, Mother and Father think I don't remember.   
  
I realize that good help is definitely hard to find these days, and those who are lacking in discretion wind up being   
  
more than dismissed from our household. That is, you realize, what the room is for. Good thing money can buy you anything.   
  
All right, bribes can buy you anything. Even silence. That seems more realistic.  
  
I am old enough now to realize that in order to be at the right hand of the devil, you still have to be in his path.   
  
Mother and Father don't know I have seen them come back from these "gatherings" before. Broken. Scared. Not the  
  
image of strength they want to portray to the unwashed masses. There is nothing regal or imposing about them when they come   
  
back like whipped dogs from the service of the Dark Lord.   
  
And yet, they still go, night after night. Personally, I think it's the fear of punishment rather than love of the Dark   
  
Lord that makes them go.   
  
Now, there's a comforting thought.   
  
I also realize that this path they have chosen is not one I can see myself taking. No, I am not being noble.   
  
Call it simple practicality if you will.   
  
I have no desire whatsoever to join in the fighting with the Mudbloods, Muggle lovers and undesirables that   
  
oppose the Dark Lord. However, I have even less desire to abase myself in front of this thing that controls my parents.   
  
I don't want to sink to their level.   
  
That stupid hat didn't proclaim me a Slytherin for nothing. I'm going to be here, waiting for the end of the   
  
fight. And when The Mudblood, the Weasel and Saint Potter meet up with my parents, the Dark Lord and the rest of his  
  
"associates" I will be cheering from the sidelines.   
  
I am no coward, but I am going to survive this war, no matter what else happens. I'll be here to reap the rewards   
  
at the end of the fray.   
  
And that IS a comforting thought. 


	2. She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night.   
  
I read that once, in a book of Muggle poetry that Dad has in the garage. By some bloke named Byron. Huh. By Ron.   
  
Maybe that's why I remember the line. The rest of the poem struck me as sort of sappy, but I always liked that line.   
  
She walks in beauty, like the night.   
  
Y'know, I have no idea when I read that, but it's been coming back to me a lot lately. Dunno why, really. It just has.   
  
Really.   
  
Okay, okay. So I do know why it's been bugging me lately. Tugging at the back of my brain, insistent and   
  
persistent. . . a teeny little fly that you can't see, but you can hear it buzzing around above your head.   
  
But this is hard to accept. Let alone, explain to anyone. I mean, she's my best friend. You can't think of your best friend   
  
like that. Even if she is amazing. Really amazing.   
  
I don't really know when I started thinking about her as anything other than Plain Hermione. It wasn't just BAM, there she   
  
was. It was more like she kept pushing her way into my brain. I'd think about something, and think "Oh, Hermione would like that."   
  
Or I would see something really wicked, and I would think "I have to tell Hermione!" Bit annoying, really. I mean, it's not like I  
  
could have stopped it. If I wanted to.   
  
I think I really, REALLY noticed in fourth year. No, not during that bloody row we had after the Yule Ball. Then I thought   
  
she was just a git. After that. Towards the end of the year, when we were waiting for Harry to come out of that maze.   
  
We were waiting together, in the stands, holding hands and practically jumping up and down in panic, waiting for him to come back   
  
out. Boy, was that a nightmare. She was squeezing my hand for dear life, eyes closed, quietly whispering "please let him be okay, please let   
  
him be okay" over and over again. And I realized I was glad that it was Harry down there, and not her.   
  
How much of a git am I for thinking that? I felt horrible for days after that, but I couldn't change it. It's not that I don't care   
  
about Harry. He's one of the family. . . especially if Mum has anything to say about it. But still.   
  
When I look at her, I don't see Plain Hermione any more. She's a lot more than that. She's. . . she's bloody brilliant is what she is.   
  
I feel like the biggest prat in the world, saying all this. It's not something I like to think about really. It's much easier to ignore   
  
the little voice in my head saying "You really like this girl. You could even love this girl."   
  
Bloody voice.   
  
Not that I have any idea what to do about it. You can't just go up to her and say "Hermione, I love you!" and have her fall into your arms.   
  
I don't think it works like that. I don't think she even feels the same way.   
  
But she still does, y'know. She walks in beauty. Like the night. 


	3. Daily Planner

We aren't really identical. At least I don't think so. He has more freckles than I do, and I have a mole on my arm   
  
that he doesn't have. I think he has bigger feet, too, but I don't think he would ever admit it. And I was born 11 minutes and   
  
43 seconds before he was.   
  
Besides, I am infinitely more charming and handsome than he is.   
  
Of the two of us, I am the planner. That's always how it's worked. Fred comes up with the ideas, I figure out how to do them.   
  
I guess you could say I am the brains behind he operation, and he's the brawn. Of course, there are a few times where the roles are switched,   
  
but not all that often. I'm not nearly as creative as he is, but I have him beat hollow on logic.   
  
I love thinking everything through. I bet you wouldn't have guessed that, eh? Fred loves the end result, the reactions to the final   
  
product. I have to admit, I really enjoy those too. . . especially the look on Dumbridge's froggy face when we concocted that portable   
  
swamp. . . but I love being able to puzzle everything out to get to that end result.   
  
I'm also much more observant than he is. Voyeuristic, Fred calls it. Git. Something could be happening right in front of him, and   
  
unless it came up and started beating him around the head he wouldn't notice it. Unlike me. I notice almost everything.   
  
Like in my family. Ginny is still trying to outdo the Weasley Men and show us all up. I think that comes from being both the youngest  
  
and the only girl. We did baby her a bit. Ickle Ronniekins is so in love with Hermione he can't see straight, but he doesn't realize it yet. I know  
  
I could tell him, but it's much more fun watching him squirm. Charlie thinks he's invincible since he fell off the roof when he was 10. Didn't even   
  
get a scratch on him, so now he goes off and works with the dragons to prove the point. Bill is trying to convince the world he's cool, but he's an   
  
even bigger bookworm than Hermione is, which is definitely saying something. You should see his room! Floor to ceiling books on 3 walls, and they're   
  
all alphabetized. Categorically. Disgusting, really.   
  
Percy is the one who worries me most, though. Yes, I know, he's a great big prat and I should hate him, but I don't. I'm madder than anything   
  
at him, but I can't hate him. I keep thinking there's something I am missing with him, but I can't place my finger on it. Maybe someday, but for now, I'll   
  
have to just assume he's a giant git. I hope I am right about me missing something, though. Doesn't happen all that often, but it happens sometimes.   
  
Did you ever notice that 6 year gap between Charlie and Perce? I didn't for a long time. Fred was actually the one who brought that one up.   
  
And then immediately wished he hadn't. I think we were only about 10, and everyone was home for Christmas. We were sitting in the living room, and   
  
Fred was looking around at everyone with this look of absolute concentration on his face. He kept counting over and over again, and then he finally asked  
  
Mum what had happened that they waited so long to have Perce after Charlie.   
  
It was awful. Dad turned ash white and stared at the floor. I think Bill turned green and Charlie dropped the ornament he was holding, shattered it all  
  
to pieces on the floor. Mum just kind of excused herself and didn't come back out for a while.   
  
See, none of us younger ones knew there were actually 9 Weasley kids. I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it before Fred said something. Like I said, I'm  
  
usually the smart one.   
  
I used to think about what it would be like without having him around. I never came up with a good scenario, either. You can't have Gred and Forge without  
  
Gred. It's just silly, then. I wouldn't have half the amount of fun I have had without him.   
  
Then again, I wouldn't have had half the amount of detentions, either.  
  
It's odd, but I know what he's thinking, sometimes, before he even says anything. I wonder if all twins can do that, or if it's because I know him so  
  
well. Maybe a bit of both, come to think of it.   
  
Sometimes it's a pain to have him know me so well. Like when I wanted to ask Katie to Hogsmeade and he put flyers up all over the quidditch pitch saying as  
  
much. But usually it's not so bad. It's even nice sometimes. I don't have to tell him when he's being a bloody oaf. He just knows. Now, whether he actually  
  
does anything about it is a completely different matter, but at least he knows.   
  
I didn't plan on being "the mature one" as Mum puts it. Honestly, I don't think "mature" an really be used in the same sentence with either Fred or me. It  
  
works out in the long run, though. I mean, someone has to make sure we don't get caught and that our plans go through like they're supposed to. Think of what it would   
  
be like if I left all that to Fred.   
  
The school would be closed. Permanently, I think. I doubt it would be habitable after he was through with it. But it would definitely be fun.   
  
We both knew Mum wouldn't be thrilled with the idea of us opening the joke shop. We knew that before we even started working on the first Canary Cream, but we   
  
both agreed it was something we had to do. I couldn't imagine working in the Ministry, and I think putting Fred in any position of power would be disastrous, so we did the thing   
  
we do best. Pranks. Who knows better than us how to skive off classes? Who else could organize all the toilets on the third floor to sing Christmas Tunes on the last day of classes?   
  
Who else could have found that extra secret passage behind the tapestry of Vivienne the Hardy that isn't even on the Marauder's Map?   
  
Well, the Marauder's might have, bless their black little hearts. But they didn't. And WE did.   
  
It's Fred's dearest ambition to put one of our fake wands into You Know Who's hands at some point in time. I think it's a great idea. Brilliant, actually. Now I just have to figure out HOW.   
  
But, well, that's my job. He comes up with ideas. I make 'em happen. 


	4. Lost to Shadow

I never meant to be the "bad guy". When I was younger, it never occurred to me that I might not be on the same side as all my friends. Even now I am still surprised by it sometimes. Strange, the effects time and circumstances have on people.   
  
When I was younger, we were always together. Always, no matter what happened, I knew someone would stand behind me. Usually it was even three someones, but there was always at least one. I sometimes wonder where that went wrong. Was it really my fault? Was it something else, some other outside dynamic that killed the group?   
  
For the longest time I tried to blame Lily for it. She was the outsider, the intruder in our midst who was slowly hacking away at one of the pillars of our foundation. I hated her for a long, long time for trying to take away James. Now I see it wasn't her any more than it was one of the long string of conquests Sirius brought in, or the few girls Remus would allow himself to date. The problem was much more internalized than any of us wanted to admit.   
  
We met at various times during the first month of school. I think James and Sirius met on the platform and then they stumbled into a car with Remus on the ride on the Hogwarts Express. I sat alone at the back of the train trying not to think about the new surroundings. I didn't find the rest of them until two weeks into the school year when Remus sat next to me.   
  
I still remember the sorting. I was so terrified of the task we were going to have to do that I almost bolted for the door. Maybe I should have, I don't know. Anyway, there I was, praying to every god I could think of not to let me make a fool of myself or get myself killed on the first day. And then they called my name.   
  
I didn't like the hat. I still despise the blasted thing, and it's been more than twenty years since I had to wear it. It saw into places in my mind that no one has a right to see. It immediately knew things about me that I wouldn't tell anyone, and I hated it. I know it's completely stupid to have such hatred for an object, but I do. Given the chance right now I would gleefully rip it to shreds and then burn the remainders.   
  
It said that I was a bit of a coward, but that was probably due to my upbringing. It said I wouldn't really fit in with the Ravenclaws as I wasn't quick thinking, but I did have a brain when I wanted to use it. Couldn't see putting me in with the Slytherin's as I wasn't that cunning. Well, that and I loath snakes, which put a damper on things. I wasn't really suited to Hufflepuff as I am impatient and don't like waiting for the fruits of my labor, so it stuck me into Gryffindor, against it's better judgement, and said it thought that maybe my associates would be able to help me see the way of things and lead me down the right path.   
  
It was very hard for me to accept, this knowledge that I didn't really belong anywhere. How could they expect an eleven year old boy to take that news and shrug it off? I was an afterthought. The boy no one else wants to sit with during meals, and it killed me.   
  
And then I found the others. Well, in fairness, I guess I should say they found me. Remus has always had an overly kind heart and he couldn't stand to see this boy no one else wanted to talk to, so he dragged the others over to me. From then on, we were inseparable.   
  
Or so we thought.   
  
The Dark Lord came upon me one night when I was on my way home from work. I was working at one of the shops in Diagon Alley, still living with my parents and trying to save enough money to move into a flat like Sirius and Remus had. I was scared witless, but that was nothing new. He offered me riches and power and influence beyond my wildest dreams. More wealth than Gringotts could hold, greater power than Dumbledor could imagine, friends, fame, anything I wanted. It sounded too good to be true.  
  
You see, I have never been much of anything. I'm not much of a wizard. Sirius and Remus and James had to help me through every single one of my classes if I wanted to even think about passing. I'm not much of a man. I couldn't stand up to my father even once in my life. I'm not much of a friend, either. I took the trust of four people and turned it against them.   
  
I know they shouldn't ever forgive me for it. I doubt I'll ever be able to forgive myself. Not that it matters any more. Three are dead. Remus is practically crippled with the loss from what I hear. Not that I am surprised by that. He's all that's left, really.   
  
I don't know what I was thinking when I told the Dark Lord I would give James and Lily to him. I can't really remember thinking anything. I had long since given up the pipe dream He had woven for me to bring me into His service. I think it was more self preservation than any thoughts of rewards. I had been a groomsman when James and Lily got married. I was at Hospital when Harry was born. They were some of the best mates a man could ever wish for. I still can't believe I betrayed them sometimes.   
  
He was almost giddy with excitement when I told Him Sirius had convinced the Potters to make me their secret keeper. Of course we all knew about the Prophecy, saying that some boy born at the end of July would be able to defeat the Dark Lord, but I don't think it really dawned on me until then what that meant to James and Lily. No, that's a lie. I try to convince myself that I didn't know I had signed their death warrant, along with that of their infant son, but I know it's a lie. It doesn't help.   
  
Instead, I am stuck here with a fist full of tainted memories. There is so much in my life I wish I could change, so many things I would take back in a heartbeat if given half the chance. I loath what I have become. I despise myself and every breath that's in my body. Sometimes I think about throwing myself into a battle simply to end it all, but I know I won't do it. I don't have the strength. Where is that Gryffindor courage now? Bloody hat.   
  
The worst part is, I know that James and Lily would forgive me if they could. That's just the way they were. I can hear James now "It's okay, Wormtail. These things happen. Who could say what I would have done in your shoes? It's not like you had much of a choice there, face to face with Voldemort." He always was understanding. Even if you didn't understand what was going on yourself.   
  
I know Harry hates me. He really has every right to, but I can't help feeling a teeny bit of indignation about it. I keep telling myself that it isn't my fault he's an orphan. It's not my fault he never knew his family. It's not my fault one of the last links he had to his parents is gone forever through that veil in the Ministry. It's not my fault. . . But it is my fault. The whole thing. Dad always told me I was never good enough. I was never smart enough. I was never strong enough. I should have listened to him. I should have listened.   
  
Maybe then I wouldn't be alone. 


	5. Fade to Black

Have you ever been so frustrated with yourself you could bloody well scream? So sick of everything that is going on around you that you would hex the next person to walk through your door into oblivion if they ask you how you're feeling?   
  
No? Then sod off. I'm not in the mood to explain.   
  
Bugger.   
  
Y'see it's like this. I didn't plan on doing any of this. I never in my wildest dreams even imagined going to work for the Ministry, let alone getting to become an Auror. I'd always wanted to be one, but I have the stealth capabilities of a suit of armor, and while my intelligence is "adequate" (thank you so much for that, Moody) I really didn't have the marks to be an Auror.   
  
And then they found out I'm a metamorphmagus. The only one in ages. It all went to hell in a handbasket from there.   
  
I'd known I was one for as long as I can remember. Well, I knew I could change my appearance at will. I'd never known what it was called before I got to Hogwarts. You should have seen the look on McGonagall's face when I showed up for transfiguration with ankle length blue hair, dark brown eyes, a black unibrow and rather equine features. Bit of a difference from what I usually look like, with short, spiky brown hair and ice blue eyes. And the Black family features. We all have the same nose. Even Aunt Bella. Even Sirius.   
  
Dumbledore was just as shocked as McGonagall. They asked me to do several "tests" before they called in Mum and Dad. I thought I was in trouble there for a while, before they explained everything to me. Here I figured everyone could make their nose change. Dumbledore called the Minister that night to tell him about me, and they agreed I could take some "special" classes in order to further develop my skill.   
  
After that, the fact I was a morph was kept secret. Dumbledore and McGonagall knew, of course, as did my parents and the Minister, but that was about it. I had to tell the other kids in my transfiguration class that I had done the change using magic. Dumbledore said it would be better for me if no one else knew, so I had to stay plain Tonks for the rest of my time in school. Course now I know he was right, but at the time it was a pain. I had this brilliant ability and I couldn't even use it. It drove me absolutely batty.   
  
Rather like now.   
  
Yes, I know that Dumbledore is right in this instance as well, but it doesn't make it any easier. I know now that the reason I couldn't tell anyone about being a morph in school was because someone could take advantage of that. "Someone" being You-Know-Who, of course. He already has enough reasons to be coming after me, thank you very much. Don't need to be giving him another one.   
  
Auror training was very, very intense. Especially for me. I had Moody as a trainer. You think he's nutters in general? Try taking a class from him. Bloody psycho is what he is. Not that he isn't a brilliant psycho, but still. Out of a hundred and fourty five people who started in my class, only thirty nine made it through. Most dropped out within the first week. Try having that man yelling "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" at you for forty two weeks straight and then tell me it isn't a hard course.   
  
I'm quite glad I was in his group when we went through. Out of the thirty nine who graduated to become Aurors, I am one of fifteen that are still alive. Fifteen. That's a mortality rate of well over half my class. I thank Moody for making sure I wasn't one of those other twenty four Aurors. Well, him and Sirius.   
  
Sirius was an Auror, you know. Completely threw tradition and the "honor of the family" in Grandmum's face. She was furious. I remember Aunt Cissa coming over and telling us about it. I think that's when I decided I wanted to be one too. Anything Sirius did was wonderful by me, and anything that made Grandmum that mad was even better.   
  
When Sirius would come over I would make him play Auror with me. Of course he was always the Bad Guy and I was always the Star Auror. I didn't know then that it would be training for later on, of course, but I still remember at lot about those old games.   
  
"Always check the corners of every room. You never know where a bad guy may be."  
  
"Make sure you keep your wand pointed down, but be ready to bring it up at a second's notice."   
  
"C'Mon, Dora! You have to watch where you're going! You're going to broadcast to every bad guy for 3 miles that you're here if you step on a ward. This is how you can look for them. . . "  
  
I never met any of Sirius' friends. Well, at least not until after I had been inducted into the New Order. I know that James Potter was an Auror as well, and that his wife Lily had something to do with charms for the Old Order, but I never met them. I wish I could have met them. If Harry's any indication of what they were like, they would have been wonderful people.   
  
The Potters died when I was seven. Or was it eight? I don't remember any more. Funny how you can remember the day, but not the date. What I really remember is Mum taking me out to celebrate with Dad. There were shooting stars and owls everywhere. The Statute of Secrecy went right out the door that morning. Can't say I really blame anyone. . . there was suddenly a dawn after thirteen years of night. Who wouldn't want to celebrate?   
  
Well, there were a few people.   
  
I never really believed Sirius could do it. I'd heard him talk about Harry before. Heard him tell Mum about the pranks he and James would get into. Mum even had a picture from the Potter's wedding on the wall in the living room with Sirius and James and Lily. They were his family. Not by blood, of course, but by choice. Anyone who knew them knew that. I just couldn't bring myself to believe that he'd be able to kill his family. It would be like saying he could kill Mum and I. It was ludicrous.   
  
It was really hard when I was to young to know not to defend him. Sirius was a ghost story that parents would tell their naughty children. "Better watch out, or Sirius Black will come after you!" I stood up for him for a while, telling people in no uncertain terms that my cousin would never do such a thing and they had better shut up about it.   
  
Lost more than a few friends that way. They'd be mad at me for yelling at them, and their parents would be horrified that I was related to the Monster. After a while I learned to keep quiet about it. Eventually, almost everyone forgot I was even related to him.   
  
Except Dumbledore. Of course he knew my lineage. I sometimes think the bloke knows everything. He also knew that I wasn't made of the same stuff as the rest of the Blacks, as my Aunt Bella loved to remind me. I was made of the same stuff as my Mum. Same as Sirius.   
  
I was so relieved when I found out he was okay. I nearly bowled him over the first night I came back to Grandmum's house. Of course Grandmum's picture started screaming at me the moment I knocked over that blasted umbrella stand, but it didn't matter. Sirius was alive. I was right, he wasn't the murderer everyone else thought him to be. He was here with me again. It was just like old times. He wasn't the Bad Guy, but I still got to be the Star Auror.   
  
But when he needed to be saved, I couldn't be there for him. No, Dora Tonks, Star Auror was too busy being unconscious and bleeding on the floor to save one of the people she cared most about in the world. I wasn't there when he needed me most. Everything he taught me, and I still wasn't good enough. Then I found out it was Aunt Bella.   
  
So that's why I am sitting here, slowly going crazy and not being able to do anything about it. Bellatrix Lestrange, Aunt Bella, has become almost an obsession. She has caused so much pain in the world. Not just in my life, but in everything she's touched. Between Dad and Mum and Sirius, that would be more than enough, but now I keep hearing about other things. Like the Conways. Killed on the spot for being muggle born. Like the McCombs. Mowed down by the Killing Curse for standing up to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Like the Longbottoms.   
  
Oh, Merlin. How Neville deals with it, I'll never know.   
  
I want nothing so much as to go after her and finish what Sirius started last Spring. I would like nothing so much as to show her what being a Black really means. It has nothing to do with blood or purity. It deals with pride. It deals with the courage to stand up against any odds. It deals with love. It deals with forgiveness and frailty and humanity. None of which she has. None of which she is.   
  
Aunt Bella gave up being a Black long ago. She's a Lestrange now, not a Black. Never a Black. She's a disgrace to the name. And I am going to make sure she realizes that before she dies.   
  
Before I kill her.   
  
But I have to wait. Wait for the "opportune moment" like Dumbledore keeps telling me. As Sirius reminded me. I hope it comes soon. I hope he's watching me, wherever he is now. I hope he understands why I am doing this.   
  
For that matter, I hope she does too. I hope the opportune moment comes very, very soon. And I hope I'm the one to show her what it means to be a Tonks.   
  
To be a Black. 


	6. Finnegan's Wake

I heard the news from Seamus first, and I didn't believe him. Why would I? Why would they have told the children first, and we not hear anything about it? It was preposterous. It didn't make any sense.   
  
But no matter how many times he told his Da and I, Seamus' story never wavered, never changed. I kept listening closely, looking for a weak spot, looking for a hole, but I couldn't find one.   
  
If I believed what Seamus said, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had come back at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He had killed Bertha Jorkins, the ministry worker whose mysterious disappearance was all over the Daily Prophet. He had killed the other Hogwarts champion, the older one. I can't remember his name, sadly, but I think he was Amos Diggory's son. He had called back the remaining Death Eaters to his side and was planning another reign of terror. Oh, and somehow, Harry Potter had escaped the clutches of the most evil wizard known to man. Again.   
  
Now, I ask you, would YOU have believed this if your 14 year old son came home with this story? I know Seamus is a good lad, a smart lad, but I couldn't bring myself to believe this tale.   
  
I had met Harry over the summer, at the World Cup. He looked to be a fine young man, nothing more, but nothing less. I don't really know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn't the skinny, bespectacled boy with messy black hair and shamrock eyes that Seamus brought over. He looked abnormally. . . normal. How could this slip of a boy survive the Killing Curse? How could he have escaped You-Know-Who not once, but twice? It was impossible.   
  
I told Seamus so. Of course he was a bit miffed at me for a while, not believing him, but that couldn't really be helped. When the Daily Prophet started writing reports about the goings on at the Tri-Wizard, I gave them to Seamus to read. This version made much more sense.   
  
Apparently there was a problem with one of the barriers the Tournament Officials set up in the maze for the last task. The Diggory boy tried to go through it, and was killed in the process. Harry watched it happen, which led to some serious post traumatic stress. Apparently, he wouldn't even let go of the boys body when they were both brought out of the maze. A terrible tragedy, to be sure, but there was no mention of Death Eaters, Bertha Jorkins or You-Know-Who.   
  
Later in the summer, the reports kept coming on a regular basis. First was an obituary for Bertha Jorkins, who they said had died of "natural causes" in her home. Next there were frequent reports about Harry's continued "outbursts", questioning his motivations. There were even a few articles questioning the sanity of Albus Dumbledore, who stood staunchly by the story Seamus had told us in June.   
  
These last were the hardest for me to accept, the ones that started to make me question my decision to ignore Seamus' story. While Dumbledore had always been eccentric, he still remained a brilliant man. It was very, very hard for me to think of him as the crackpot the Minister was implying.   
  
But it was harder for me to accept the idea that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I still shake at the very thought. It's much easier to pretend and ignore.   
  
There are plenty of reasons to be afraid of You-Know-Who, but I have two of the best I know. Seamus and Michael.   
  
Seamus was too young to remember the raids, the Dark Mark, the never knowing if you would find your house and family intact when you returned. It was a living nightmare, and one that I am not keen on repeating. It was horrible having to worry about your son and husband, simply because you fell in love with a Muggle.   
  
Michael himself doesn't know everything that happened. I didn't tell him much of the early raids, before we were married. It's not that I don't believe him strong or capable enough to handle it, I just don't want him to worry about me, or think I have put myself in danger because of him. I don't want him to think this is his fault, and I know he will.   
  
It would be much easier to simply ignore everything that's happening. I would like nothing better than to be able to live in ignorance for the rest of my life if it meant that my family would be safe. However, I am not a fool. I can see things are changing.   
  
When Seamus went back to Hogwarts, we were both convinced that Harry had snapped, Dumbledore was getting senile, and all was right with the world. Now, after a few months hearing things straight from the action, the Daily Prophet is the one not making sense.   
  
Seamus' letters are a complete contradiction to the fairy tale the Ministry is telling. I would desperately love to disbelieve his account of things, but it's the Daily Prophet stories that are full of holes. Seamus' have always been water tight, and according to him, Dumbledore is as sane as he ever was, and Harry is the same normal teenager I met last June.   
  
If I thought I could keep Michael and Seamus safe by ignoring the news, I would do it in a heartbeat. Sadly, I am beginning to see I can't do that. If Seamus is right, there is a war coming, possibly more terrible than any the Wizarding World has ever seen. Somehow my family is going to have to make it through.   
  
This wasn't an easy realization for me, by any means, but it's one I have come to, kicking and screaming. Michael always says I am the most stubborn woman on the planet.   
  
No one can call us cowards, though. We stood up to You-Know-Who last time, and if he is back again, we'll stand up to him this time too. Luckily, we're fighters. The whole lot of Finnegan's are. I just hope it isn't too late for us to get ready for this round. 


	7. Heartsease

A/N Thanks to everyone who has read this story! I still don't own anything. . . not even the computer. Ah well.   
  
FF did some odd things to the previous chapter, so I would appreciate it if you would look and see if you have read that   
  
one. If so, fantabulous. If not, please do so. I live for the accolades (or criticisms) of you wonderful people.   
  
***********************************************************************************************************  
  
There is a kind of wonderful freedom in knowing intrinsically that you are damned. Few people ever know that kind of freedom.   
  
Even fewer find it before they are 16 years old.   
  
Of course I have always known what path I am expected to take. I am supposed to graduate with the highest honors in my class   
  
(fat chance of that, with Granger in my year), marry my fellow pureblood Slytherin Draco, have several children so traditional   
  
values may be instilled into them, and be the good little housewife my mother always pretended she was.   
  
Can you tell I have been listening to that tripe for a while?  
  
I have known since I was old enough to comprehend the meaning of the words "arranged marriage" that I would be marrying Draco   
  
Malfoy. Our families, like almost all the pureblood families, have ties going back 12 generations. It was only logical to our parents that  
  
we continue this Malfoy-Parkinson relationship, so Draco and I have been thrust together for as long as I can remember.   
  
I despise the pompous, preening ass more than I can say. But he does have his uses. So I simper and dote and pretend to be the idyllic  
  
little mindless plaything he wants. Stupid boy.   
  
His parents seem to be the epitome of Slytherin Pride. Narcissa is beautiful, doting and obedient to her husband. Lucius is handsome,   
  
well spoken and a philanthropist. They are everything 'good' children should aspire to be.   
  
They are also Death Eaters.  
  
Oh, don't look so shocked. Of course I know what Draco's parents are. I am not a complete moron, and it isn't as if he hasn't been   
  
bragging about their exploits for the last umpteen years. You can't talk about the 'secret chamber' under your parents' drawing room   
  
and not expect people to draw conclusions.   
  
I don't want to be another Mrs. Malfoy, with a painted on smile and vapid expression plastered onto my face. I have seen countless   
  
portraits of countless generations of them in Malfoy Manor. I know Narcissa isn't as dumb as she puts on. It's simply easier to nod   
  
and smile, to not think about anything and let Lucius handle the family affairs. I can't imagine living like that, no matter how much money I   
  
would acquire. My aspirations are much more lofty.   
  
It's amazing what you can learn from the restricted section of the library. Even my parents library doesn't have the amount of knowledge   
  
the Hogwarts Library has, and I used to think even the Dark Lord himself could learn things from my fathers' books. All this knowledge at our   
  
fingertips, and half the school wouldn't know how to use it.   
  
So few people know about my bookish tendencies, let alone what I am really capable of. I haven't been one to show off my knowledge and   
  
talents, especially here at school. I don't spend hours in the library proper, like Granger does. There is no subtlety in that. No finesse.   
  
I take the books and read them on my own, during the darkest part of the night. There I can learn the intricacies of the spells I will need later   
  
in life. There I can prepare myself for what's coming.  
  
I already know I am going to wind up in Azkaban in the end. Sure, I might die before they send me, but somehow I know that I'll be playing   
  
dice with the Dementors before I am thirty, if for no other reason than guilt by association.   
  
So why not earn the fate that's waiting for me?   
  
I have realized that I'm going to go down with the ship, whether I want to or not, and I have come to terms with that fact. In all honesty, I am   
  
even looking forward to it a little bit.   
  
You see, I don't need money or the petty conveniences it can buy. I could never work a day in my life and still be financially secure without the   
  
added wealth of the Malfoy fortunes. I don't need servants or clothes or material things to prove my worth, unlike some toffee-nosed blonde ferrets  
  
I could mention. My needs are much more base than that.  
  
I want to see them crawl. All of them.   
  
After years of sucking up to people like Draco and Umbridge and Snape, it will be quite refreshing to come into my own as a witch. I have waited  
  
patiently for 16 years, waiting for the opportune moment to prove myself to the world. I think the Dark Lord will be able to help me in this prospect.   
  
I think my turn is coming soon. And I am determined to make the ride last as long as possible. 


	8. Betrayers and Barraters

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A/N Many thanks go out to my friend, the Teen Typist, for shoving me back on track.   
  
Barrater: those who bartered their public office for private gain. They are ascribed in Dante's Inferno as inhabiting the 8th level of hell.   
  
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I think this is going to be the hardest and most painful thing I will ever have to endure. I can't even think of anything to compare it to, I am so flustered at the moment.   
  
How can I go back to them? What are they going to think of me? Will they even take me back? I've been a complete prat all year, and I can't think of anything to say that will undo the past months.   
  
Penny tried to tell me that it wasn't my fault and that anyone would have done the same thing in my shoes and in the same circumstances, but I know it's just talk. I made a terrible choice, and now I have to live with the backlash.   
  
It's going to be very hard, though. I mean, I have never had to abase myself in front of anyone before. No, I'm not saying I've never been wrong before. I'm not pompous enough to think that, no matter what the twins say about me.   
  
I've just never been this wrong. Not when it was important.   
  
I still can't believe it, and I have seen the shambles the Ministry is in at the moment. It's an utter nightmare over there right now, and suddenly being the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister isn't such a prestigious position.   
  
Not that it ever was, really. I am. . .no, I WAS a glorified secretary. A lackey. A toady.   
  
A possible spy.   
  
Yes, I see that now as well, though when Dad brought it up I was incensed at the idea. It's hard enough trying to get any recognition inside my family, I didn't appreciate his views on the matter at work.   
  
See, no matter what I do, I am always second at everything. I was the second Prefect in the family. Second Head Boy. Second hand owl. Second hand broom. Second hand clothes. Second hand job.   
  
Dad got me in at the Ministry in the first place. Oh, he tried to reassure me it was under my own merits, but I know he talked Crouch into giving me the initial chance. Merlin's Beard, the man didn't even know my name.   
  
So when Fudge offered me the job as his assistant, I jumped on it. How could I not? It was my Golden Fleece, and I grabbed it.   
  
I thought everyone would be so proud of me. I had finally done something first. Finally done something completely on my own. I truly felt like my contributions to society would matter.   
  
When Dad said he thought Fudge had ulterior motives, it was as if my whole world crashed around me. I screamed emotions at him that I never knew I held in check, hurled years of resentment and anger at him that I didn't even know I harbored.   
  
I think it scared me almost as much as it scared him.   
  
I know it terrified Mum. And Ginny. She looked at me as if she had never seen me before.   
  
At the time I convinced myself it was their obsession for Harry overriding their reason, but I think even then I knew he wasn't the dangerous criminal Fudge was making him out to be.   
  
I mean, it was Harry. I've played chess with him. I've helped him with his homework. He's as much a part of the Weasley Family Tree as I am.   
  
Maybe even more so.   
  
How on earth am I going to rectify the situation I have created? Can I truly just waltz back in for dinner on Sunday and ask for forgiveness before sitting down at the table? Should I wait for a formal invitation? Should I send a written apology to them instead?   
  
How do you tell the people who matter the most to you that you were completely wrong and you're sorry? And then make them believe you?   
  
I am so nervous right now, I don't think I could light a candle, let alone Apparate or Floo over. I have to do it though. I have to. Where's my Gryffindor courage when I need it?   
  
I've never told anyone before, but the Sorting Hat mentioned putting me in Slytherin for a few moments before deciding ultimately to place me in Gryffindor. Maybe it made a mistake after all.   
  
My ambition overrode my loyalties and my sense of duty. That isn't bravery, it's avarice. It's my own voracity for notoriety coming back to consume me in the end.   
  
So how to rectify the situation. How to right the gravest wrong I could commit short of outright murder. That's my quest.   
  
I heard somewhere once that the deepest level of hell was set aside for betrayers and barraters. Maybe I can stem the tide before I set myself any further down that path.   
  
It's time to go home. 


	9. Stuck in the Middle

A/N Nope, Still don't own anything. If you would like to give me something to own, please e-mail me for shipping directions.   
  
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It's hard to be caught in the middle, you know? Trying to make sure that your parents don't find out about the mayhem going on in the Wizarding world, while at the same time trying to make sure you're kept as up to date as possible? C'mon, now. That's a full time job.   
  
Seamus was great about keeping me updated over the last holiday, though. He was the best mate a guy could ask for, sending my copies of the Prophet he nicked from his Mum's bin and then owling it over after my parents were asleep. He even helped me come up with a few believable stories about what happened at the end of school fourth year.   
  
My parents may be Muggles, but they are far from dim. Not that it would have taken a genius to figure out something was wrong.   
  
When they came to pick me up at the platform, both of them commented on how subdued the students were. That was their nice and polite way of asking what the heck had happened that I hadn't written and told them about. I told them about Cedric Diggory's death, but I didn't tell them everything.   
  
What good would it have done, anyway? They would have worried over nothing and it wouldn't have done any good at all. Much better they think it was an accident.   
  
It took a great deal of effort on both our parts (Seamus' and mine) to get back to school. My problem was keeping the parent's in the dark about an impending war when they KNEW I wasn't telling them everything, but Seamus' Mum already knew and was dead set against him coming back. Got it into her head that Dumbledore'd gone mad and Harry was dangerous.   
  
Not that Harry is the safest person in the world to be around, but it's not as if it's his fault. I think trouble just naturally comes to him. And Dumbledore is just. . . Dumbledore. Sure, he's a bit daft and always has been far as I can see, but he's still the best we've got.   
  
I was worried about Seamus and Harry for a bit, there, at the beginning of the year. I've always liked Harry, he's a good bloke, but Seamus had been listening to his Mum all summer, and she could persuade Snape to tapdance starkers if she was around him for a few hours. That first night in the dorm I thought they were going to come to blows.   
  
Luckily, Ron and Neville and I talked some sense into the two of them, but it was a nasty situation there for a while. They wouldn't even look at each other, which is no easy trick when you share a dorm.   
  
After a while, Seamus started coming to the D.A. meetings with me. He said it was because his Mum would be madder at him for failing his O.W.L. than for associating with Harry, but I think it was because he started really thinking about everything that was going on instead of getting his information second hand from the Prophet.   
  
I think Seamus even eventually wrote his Mum and told her how Harry really is and that she should be getting ready in case anything happened. Took him long enough, but that's how he is. Once he decides on something, it takes a miracle to change his mind.  
  
Sure, I am scared about what's going to happen. I went to see Hermione and Ron in the infirmary and they didn't look ready to run a marathon by any means. I don't think anyone with half a lick of sense isn't a tad nervous about what's going on. Even the Prophet is starting to report some real news instead of the tabloid press it was sending out last holiday.   
  
But we can't let it beat us. That's how You-Know-Who works, I think. By making everyone so scared that they can't think. Can't fight any more.   
  
Can't live any more.   
  
So, I am bound and determined to not let him get to me. It's a mental game of chess, and while I'm no Ron Weasely, I'm not half bad. And I have a plan.   
  
This holiday, I am going to do exactly what I always do. Whatever I want. I have a family trip to Spain planned, a week with Seamus's family and tickets to see West Ham play football. What could be better than that?   
  
Seamus is already coming to see West Ham play a few times. Maybe I'll see if Harry and Ron and Neville want to come to a match. Make it an act of rebellion by the Gryffindor boys. Show him we don't scare easy.   
  
Make sure he knows we're going to beat him in the end. 


	10. Pride and Prejudice

_A/N Nope still don't own anything. Noboby has offered to give me anything either. Ah well. Guess I should write more. . ._

I did not want this. To this day I still wonder about the path I have chosen. The responsibility should be too much for anyone to bear, yet I continue to see those around me deal with atrocity after atrocity. . . heartache after heartache. Every single day brings a new dilemma to our doorstep and every evening brings it's cataclysmic ending, like a phoenix, a new crisis born from the ashes of the most recently defeated.   
  
What a wonderfully ironic metaphor. Remus would love that one.  
  
In the beginning, I simply followed Albus when he chose the lifestyle he did. I had no interest in fighting dark wizards, and unlike him, I had no real emotion vested in the demise of Voldemort. Of course, that would all change with time, like it would for so many others in our peer group.   
  
We formed the Order in the mid 70's, during Voldemort's original reign of terror. Of course, we didn't really have a set name then, it was more a meeting of the minds, as it were. Mostly it was others from the faculty, but there was a general mish-mash of others who started working closely with us when attacks became frequent. We acquired Aurors, Squibs, Ministry officials. . . I think Albus would have drafted students who were still in school had I allowed him to. No matter how hard we tried, though, our numbers were dwindling rapidly while Voldemort's were increasing exponentially. For every Death Eater we captured, three more sprang up in his place. It was worse than fighting a hydra.   
  
With every new batch of recruits Albus managed to bring in to the Order, we lost twice as many veterans to the Death Eaters. It was an absolute nightmare. Half of the members from the Order turned up missing, or dead, or worse. It looked black for us, and there was no light at the end of the tunnel. . .   
  
. . . and then he was gone. Just like that. Amazing, really, the relief I felt at hearing the words from Albus' mouth.   
  
But there was an infinite sadness that day as well. Sure, Voldemort was gone, but he had taken with him two of the most promising young wizards I had ever met, and left their infant son an orphan. It was a travesty, but a joyful one. I remember sitting on the floor with Albus while we laughed and cried in turns once the truth hit us.   
  
I offered to take Harry in myself when I heard what had happened, but Albus thought it best if we place him with Lily's sister. She was a Muggle, true, but it would be much harder for any Death Eaters to find him there. He did allow me the suggestion of placing my sister Arabella on his watch. She was a stalwart member of the Order and had married a Muggle, so could blend in impeccably.   
  
Plus, I must admit, I would get to keep an unobtrusive eye on Harry, which was a definite addition to the plan. I got to keep track of his growth from afar, while still keeping the appearance of anonymity.   
  
I am quite proud of him, truth be told. That young man has handled everything we have thrown at him with a grace a dignity that would belie his young age. True, he does not have quite the gift his father had for transfiguration (though he would undoubtedly improve should he decide to study more frequently) but he promises to be a formidable wizard when he matures, especially with the added bonuses of Ms. Granger's intelligence and Mr. Weasley's bravado to help him along. Lily and James should be proud of their son.   
  
Merlin knows I am.


	11. Absolution

**_A/N: Remember in the summary where I said it was rated PG for possible later content? This would be that content. Rated PG for violence._**

There is not a day that goes by that I do not loathe myself. Whenever I look in the mirror, I see not my sallow face staring back at me, but a monster, hidden behind a hooked nose and greasy hair. It sickens me, to think of what I have done.   
  
Naturally, Albus has repeatedly tried to assuage my guilt by telling me that I am paying for my sins, and my continued association with them is a necessary evil. Something that must be done for the greater good. Sacrifices must be made, of course, and the eternal damnation of my soul has become one of those sacrifices tossed onto the pile.   
  
I still can't begin to fathom how he can stand to be in my presence, knowing what he does about me. This man, who should cringe at my touch, or strike me down where I stand, instead shows unerring respect for me. Either he is the most fearless wizard or the most cruel taskmaster ever to walk the planet.   
  
Possibly a bit of both, now I think about it.   
  
It was only sensible for me to join the Death Eaters when I was younger. Not only were my closest friends and associates joining Voldemort's ranks, but the mere fact that Potter, Black and Lupin would be in my line of fire if I chose to direct it that way was a huge incentive.   
  
I was quite happy to play the villain for a while. It was easy for me. All it required were a few sneers, several well placed hexes and I was established. I was brought before Voldemort personally, and given a task to perform for him.   
  
Few people who are living have actually seen his face. . . if face it can still be called. I can still see it, whenever I close my eyes at night, his visage branded into my brain. He is abnormally tall, and emaciated, as if he hasn't eaten a meal in his life. His skin has all the pallor of a maggot's, and where his nose should be is a hollow with two slits that pucker as he breathes. But his eyes. . .   
  
Red, pitiless things that show emotion the way the spider shows emotion to the fly. It is those eyes that will haunt my dreams until my dying day.   
  
Those eyes and the results of my thirst for acceptance.   
  
The quest I was given seemed easy enough at first glance. Follow my fellow Death Eaters to a Muggle establishment and cause a bit of havoc. Nothing too intense, but enough to cause a stir. Such a simple plan. . .   
  
I swear to you, I had no intention of killing them all. I really had no idea what was truly going to transpire until after Bellatrix and Lucius had stormed down the aisles, and locked the doors behind them.   
  
Before I knew what had happened, I was caught up with the rest of them, throwing unforgivable curses as if they were disarming spells. Bellatrix was always the sadist, and she was having fun watching the Muggles run amuck.   
  
The horrible, incomprehensible part is, I enjoyed it. I reveled in the absolute power we had over them. They were crawling at my feet. I was a god, and they were worms below me, not even worthy of my notice or my attentions. I gorged myself upon their fears and spared no pity for their pleas. . .   
  
"Like sheep. Like blind sheep." we would later tell Voldemort, laughing the whole time.   
  
I can still see it. . . the absolute panic on their faces. The sheer, unadulterated horror of seeing their lives crashing down around them.   
  
I hear their shrieks in the night, when I think I am alone. They visit me. Keep me company in the darkest hours.   
  
Remind me, constantly, of my sins. My damnation.   
  
We ended up burning the whole building, in the end, along with those who were left alive inside of it. There weren't many, so their screams were thankfully short and muted by the conflagration. We left just as the Muggle authorities were showing up, Lucius throwing the Dark Mark high into the sky behind us.   
  
I received the mark that night, from Voldemort himself. It was, I believe, the worst pain I have ever felt in my life, yet, I needed it. I needed it to remind myself that I was still human. I could feel anguish just as readily as the Muggles I had decimated hours before.   
  
When I arrived back in my flat that night, I bathed, trying to get the oily smoke from my skin, but it would not come off. I scrubbed my body until I was raw and bleeding, standing in the shower, as the sanguine water dripped off my body.   
  
I spent the rest of the night mourning my dead, **MY DEAD**, and retching from the smell of burning corpses that still fills my nostrils.   
  
So you see, I am not human. I gave up my humanity before I was old enough to be considered a man. I relinquished my soul that night to be accepted by the darkest being ever to be unleashed upon the universe.   
  
Do not mock me with your pity. I neither desire, nor deserve pity.   
  
I have earned my place in hell, and will gladly pay the price when the time comes. 


	12. Reflection of Beauty

_**A/N: Don't own it. Never did. Doubt I ever will. . .**_

I am more like them than I care to admit.   
  
I was conditioned for years, taught that I was above others because of the blood than runs in my veins and the name that was attached to my persona.  
  
After hearing the mantra for so many generations, it becomes second nature to you. You begin to hear it in your sleep, the walls pulsing out a gentle cadence of purity and pomposity that pounds into your brain until you believe, unerringly.   
  
Toujours Pur.   
  
This belief was much easier to maintain when I was younger, before the years started accumulating and I became the woman you see before you. In truth, we didn't know any better, but neither did we look for other answers to the unasked questions. Ignorance was definitely bliss in those days.   
  
The three of us grew up with every imaginable luxury. Anything that we could possibly ask for could, and would, be brought before us with alacrity. A crup puppy? Done. A new silk dress? Done. Bellatrix once asked for the head of the new house elf, saying Auntie Elladora would have wanted to have an even number mounted on the wall. She got that as well, after the poor creature finished sharpening the axe himself.   
  
Andromeda was appalled by the action, but I saw nothing wrong with this behavior. She was a Black. She had every right to anything she wanted.   
  
Black women are born and bred to be wedded into powerful and affluent families. We are provided with the best clothes so that we may be more attractive to the untrained eye. We receive the best education, so that we may appear witty and charming, deceiving those around us into believing we are human.   
  
It is all a facade. We are the classic example of beauty only being skin deep. The Black family tree has been rotting for generation upon generation, it's putrefying branches twisting more with each year.   
  
Somehow Andromeda and Sirius realized this long before their time was due and before it was too late to escape the fate our family had in store for us. Somehow, they knew, but didn't share the secret.   
  
Bellatrix and Regulus, however. . . they upheld the family "honor" veraciously and without fail. Regulus died for the beliefs of our predecessors. Bellatrix has been sent back to Azkaban, which is tantamount to a death sentence as well.   
  
Azkaban. Lucius. . .   
  
I truly think he loved me at one point in time. He wasn't always the man he is today, as surely as I am not the woman he married. We have grown apart since I stopped being the demure disciple he so craves.   
  
I can't be that woman any more, as much as I covet the thoughtless existence I had believed intrinsic to my bloodline. I have a son who's future I must secure and a family I must sustain on my own.   
  
I have seen what The Dark Lord has to offer and am nonplussed with what rewards my family received by his hands.   
  
Though we have long been amalgamated with The Dark Lord, I see no other option than to disassociate myself with him and his followers and to see that my son does the same.   
  
It is a wonderful conundrum, really. In order to save my family, I must break with my family. To secure my future I must abolish my past.   
  
How very audacious of me. How astonishingly like a Gryffindor I find myself. . .   
  
How profoundly like Andromeda and Sirius I have become.


End file.
